


To Choose, and Choose Again

by Aspen (silveraspen)



Category: Kushiel's Legacy - Jacqueline Carey
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 21:32:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/141936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silveraspen/pseuds/Aspen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A life of peace is not always easy, especially when there are those who would have it otherwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quietcontrary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietcontrary/gifts).



> Set between _Kushiel's Dart_ and _Kushiel's Chosen_.

We had been in Montrève for only a few weeks, long enough for Joscelin to begin exploring the extent of its green valleys and high reaches; though more often the latter, for the love of their mountainous land runs deep in the Siovalese, and in this Joscelin was no exception. Sometimes I rode out with him, but as often as not I would spend the time in the manor house, poring over books in the library where my lord Delaunay had studied as a child. In this way the days began to take on something of a quiet pattern, and although we did not remark on it openly, in truth there was no need. Both of us were content for the most part to have it remain so, at least for however long it took to begin to soothe the still-raw edges left from the ordeals we together had suffered.

Which is not to say that we never quarreled, and that day was only the latest of several such minor skirmishes, which in itself by now would be long-forgotten save for what came of it. For all that it is much to be welcomed, healing is still itself a painful thing, and the deeper the wound the more difficult its closing. As an _anguissette_ , both knowledge and acceptance of this particular truth came to me as naturally as breathing. For Joscelin, however, it was somewhat harder, the more so as every day brought with it some new thing that recalled to mind his broken vows. A Cassiline is bound to honor his Prefect’s commands, and as such there was no question that when Lord Rinforte ordered Joscelin to return with him and seek expiation for his actions in Skaldia, he was required to do just that. Never mind that what he had done had in the end preserved not only my life but the safety of Terre d’Ange itself; the codes of the Cassiline Brotherhood are strict and uncompromising, and their vows bind unto death. But Joscelin had taken another vow when he entered the service of Anafiel Delaunay, swearing in Cassiel’s name to serve and protect Delaunay’s household in general and me in particular, and that vow he chose to keep, remaining by my side in defiance of Rinforte’s edict, even though doing so caused him to be named anathema among the Brotherhood.

They call it Cassiel’s Choice, and to make it is to take upon oneself the same burden of damnation that Cassiel himself accepted when he turned away from the One God and chose to stay instead with Blessed Elua as the Perfect Companion. This Joscelin had done, both then and every day since, and I could not help but be glad, even knowing how it occasionally tore at him. What we did not know was that it tore at others as well, others who brooded on what they saw as betrayal most foul and who laid their plans accordingly.

No, all I knew that day was my growing impatience with Joscelin’s restlessness as he lingered in the library where I studied, browsing and rejecting volume after volume until at last I could stand it no longer and asked him, a dangerous pleasantness underlying my words,

“Is there something I can help you find?”

He slanted a look at me, summer-blue eyes sharp and assessing in reaction to my tone. “No,” he replied, equally pleasant. “Nor are you likely to find anything of use in your own reading.”

My mouth fell open in shock and no small hurt of a kind that brought no pleasure with it, for he knew full well that I hoped to uncover some way to free Hyacinthe from the island prison where the Master of the Straits’s curse held him bound. Seeing the surprise and the pain both in my face, Joscelin hurried to add,

“Not like that! Phèdre, no – I didn’t mean not ever, I only meant not today. Most of the books you have stacked at your side are in Habiru, which you don’t even yet know!”

I hadn’t realized that he had been paying enough attention to notice, and I flushed with resentful embarrassment as he went on,

“What good does it do to labor so now over something you have yet to learn? Let it wait for the scholar’s arrival, and study the texts when he’s taught you to read them. Come with me today instead,” he cajoled. “You haven’t even seen all of your own holdings, and hidden in the mountains to the northwest there’s a small jewel of a hanging valley, less than a day’s ride from here, that I’ve been waiting to visit until you were there too - ”

That he was doubly, damnably right just made it worse, for I who loved to learn had far less love for enforced idleness and thus chafed at the bonds of my own ignorance by using what I knew of other languages to pick meaning from a mere handful of words in context. It was grinding, tedious work, and as I listened to his coaxing I longed for nothing more than to join him as he asked, out under the open sky and together exploring the beauty that was Montrève.

But if my own small, mercifully-to-be-brief idleness grated at me, how much worse must it be for my Prince of Travellers? The Tsingani have ever been a wandering people, never taking easily to stillness of any sort, and even less to captivity—and Hyacinthe had given up his freedom for my sake. Guilt drove my irritation to its height, and I snapped,

“Do forgive me, Messire Verreuil, if the quiet life of a secluded scholar pales in comparison to that which we might have enjoyed had we but remained in the City of Elua! But if nothing will do but that you must have some amusement, I am sure I can contrive to entertain you - ”

Bitter words, harshly spoken, and even as they rang on the air I wished that I could snatch them back again, but it was too late. Joscelin’s expression froze, then smoothed into the infuriatingly calm mask that he wore as easily as his vambraces when it suited him. He crossed his arms and gave me his Cassiline bow as he murmured,

“In Cassiel’s name, I protect and serve. My lady, I have presumed too much and given offense, it seems; I will withdraw, and trouble your studies no more with my presence.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to call after him as he turned on his heel and stalked from the room, insulted pride in every line of him; almost I did, but at the last moment refrained. Too well did I know both Joscelin’s temper and the stubbornness with which he could wield it, which when combined with my own annoyance would soon have us even more at odds than we currently were. Better far to let things cool, then apologize to him this evening and try to find some way to make amends. Or so I told myself, at least, repeating it until I was finally able to set the matter aside and immerse myself in my studies once more.

I didn’t realize just how well I’d succeeded until a light rapping at the lintel of the library door drew my attention from the page in front of me upward to meet Richeline Friote’s inquiring gaze.

“Will you come to dine,” she asked, “or would you prefer to have a tray made?”

I blinked at her in surprise.

“Has it grown so late?” Which, of course, was not the question I suddenly wanted to ask.

“It turned full dark three hours ago,” Richeline informed me, “so I finally took the liberty of interrupting you, as Messire Joscelin is not here to do it himself.”

I made some reply, I know not what, as my heart sank within me.

Joscelin was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

I slept not a wink that night. Most of it I spent pacing the floor of my chamber, alternately entreating and railing at the man who by his absence was the source of my dismay, my infuriating, stubborn Cassiline!

If I could still call him mine, that was.

The strongest doubts are those that haunt us in the darkest hours of the night watches, and truly it seemed that all such were mine that night, clamoring around me like unto ghosts on the wind, whispering fear and uncertainty all unwilling into my thoughts. But even in the depths of my despair, something in me refused to believe, and “No,” I breathed aloud in response. Hearing it fall on the empty air, I said it again: “No,” and once more, “No,” as I felt new conviction at last root deep and begin to grow.

“No,” I told myself. “Not like this. He would not leave so; not over a simple disagreement, not after everything we have shared.”

Hearing it said aloud, even if I was the one who spoke, only made it more certain. We had come through captivity and worse in Skaldia; had escaped and crossed the Camaelines in the dead of winter in order to bring Terre d’Ange news of her danger; had sailed then to Alba and returned to bitterest war, and although none of it had ever been untouched by loss and grief, the one thing that remained constant throughout was that we had done it all together.

Joscelin would not leave me like this. I was sure of it.

Which meant that something had happened to him.

By the time the first hints of dawn spread pinkening across the sky, I was ready. I had chosen the sturdiest of my riding clothes, and caught my hair up in a net that it might not interfere. As soon as light touched the east, I settled my cloak around my shoulders and lifted my leather carry-bag in hand, then left the manor house and crossed to the stables with quick steps.

The young stableboy – not even a groom yet, and whose name I did not yet know; I made note that I must remedy that, both for him and for all those who were now my people – stammered in shock to see me, and at such an hour. His surprise did not hinder him from aiding my request, though, and in short order I was mounted on a strong bay gelding that the stableboy assured me would be well-suited to handle any trail I chose.

“Thank you,” I told him, reining the horse’s head around toward the northwest. Already the need to hurry, to be off in search, was raging in my blood like fever. “Now, if you would – either go yourself, or send someone to wake Remy. Tell him where I have gone, and that I should be glad if he and the others would follow me as soon as they can.”

“Of course, my lady – but will you not wait? I will hurry, I swear,” he pleaded. “It would be no long delay, only a few minutes more— ”

“No,” I interrupted him, although gently enough. “I fear I have waited too long already.” With that I set my heels to the horse’s sides, and he leaped forward onto the road with a good will.

A hanging valley, Joscelin had said; somewhere in the mountains to the northwest, less than a day’s ride away. I felt sure somehow that this was where he must have gone, and so that was the direction in which I chose to follow. Once the sun rose high enough that others were awake and about their morning’s work, I stopped from time to time to inquire of those I saw—did they know of such a place? Had they seen a man pass this way, a man with wheat-gold hair, dressed in ash grey and bearing the sword and daggers of a Cassiline brother?

The first few people I asked shook their heads, denying any knowledge, but the fourth—

“Aye,” grunted the old shepherd. He was seated on a stone wall by the edge of the road where I had reined to a stop, smoking a pipe while he watched over his flock in the nearby field. “Saw him, right enough—that is if you’re meaning the one alone, and not the rest of them. ‘Course, I s’pose I saw them too, if you were to look at it that way.”

“The rest of them?” I asked.

“Four or five of them all together,” he confirmed. “All wearing that same gray. Looked like a bunch of dusty crows, so they did.”

I managed a laugh at his sally, even as unease stirred within me. It was enough; cheered by my appreciation for his humor, he continued,

“That one you asked about, he came through first. Headed up the trail – that one there, do you see?” He pointed with the stem of his pipe at a narrow path that crossed the field and twisted up into the mountains, out of sight. “The others were heading back the way you and he both came from—only one of them saw him as he climbed up the ridge there, and pointed him out to the rest. Wasn’t close enough to hear what they jabbered on about, but ended up they all rode after him instead.”

The shepherd shrugged. “Thought it was passing strange.”

“I agree,” I murmured. “It’s very strange. Good sir, would you do me a kindness?”

He cackled a sharp laugh at the honorific I granted him, but looked pleased all the same as he nodded. “That I will, so long as I don’t have to leave the flock untended.”

“Nothing of the sort,” I assured him. “I expect to be followed by others soon enough; even now they’re likely to be on the road behind me. Would you tell them the same as which you told me, and point their way?”

“Aye,” he agreed. “Who should I say sent them?”

“Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève,” I told him, and watched as his mouth fell slack, nearly losing him his pipe. “You have my thanks.”

The stableboy had been right; my horse took the trail with ease, while the old shepherd stared after me in surprise.


	3. Chapter 3

The trail the shepherd had shown me wound its way through the lower hills, then snaked up over the ridge and on toward the heights. I was soon grateful I had chosen one of my heavier cloaks, mindful of how cold it had been high in the Camaelines. Warm against the morning’s damp chill, it was even more useful now, as the air grew thinner around me.

Another peculiarity of the high, thin mountain air is that sound carries far less well there than it does in lower lands. I knew this, of course, but I didn’t realize just how true it was until I nearly stumbled right into the midst of the battle before the bright flash of light from a steel blade chanced to warn me. I reined my horse back a few steps, out of sight, then slid from the saddle and crept up behind a boulder to peer unseen at the spectacle taking place in the valley below – and what I beheld filled me with horror.

Four or five, the shepherd had said; I counted five, four of whom were arrayed on guard in a large circle, one at each of the compass-points. The fifth was in the center of the ring, but not alone; Joscelin stood across from him. Both held their daggers unsheathed in their hands, and their focus on each other was absolute.

Before I could draw breath to call out, the fifth man moved, and Joscelin spun instantly into a seamless, flowing defense. Since we had come to Montrève, I’d seen him practice the Cassiline forms alone in the garden of a morning, every morning without fail, but it was as nothing compared to what I watched now. Almost it seemed that it must be some sort of graceful dance between the two of them, some known pattern of simple sparring, but as I looked closer I realized it was anything but.

The ground beneath their feet lay well-trampled, with what grass that had grown there torn from its roots and scattered in green wisps across the dark earth further darkened in patches by blood. Even as I watched, the unknown opponent struck a swift, slicing blow at Joscelin’s arm. It cost him, for Joscelin immediately crossed both his daggers in front of him in a twisting move I had seen before, catching one of the stranger’s weapons and sending it flying—but in doing so, the other blade skittered across one of Joscelin’s vambraces and ripped a gash along his side, and upon seeing it I screamed aloud, unthinking,

“Joscelin!”

My cry rent the thin air, and three of those who were guarding looked up, their heads jerking around toward the sound of my voice. I didn’t have time to dwell on my error, however, for though Joscelin didn’t so much as glance toward me, his conservative defense instantly became a whirlwind. His opponent’s second dagger went flying as well almost immediately, and Joscelin followed up with a hard kick to his middle, sending the man sprawling. Even as he whirled to face the nearest guard, he yelled,

“Phèdre, no! Stay where you are!”

I couldn’t understand what he said next, as it was too quiet for the thin air to carry, but the four Brothers who had marked the circle had no difficulty hearing him. I pressed both my hands hard to my mouth to stifle myself against making any other inadvertent cries as all of them together gave their Cassiline bows and joined the fray, four to Joscelin’s one.

The battle was fast and furious, but even in the confusion I could not fail to notice that three of Joscelin’s opponents were fighting with but one dagger apiece, and only the fourth held both in hand. My brow furrowed, the more so when I noticed that the missing three daggers were stacked neatly to one side—along with the two of his own that the fifth opponent had just added to the pile beside which he now stood, watching the fight with a tight, impassive expression on his face.

It did not take long. One after another, Joscelin disarmed them, although not without taking additional wounds himself in the process. It seemed that I felt each sharp slice as though the blade was set against my own skin, and each was met with a surge of fear for his sake and a flush of desire as well – for I am what I am, pricked by Kushiel’s Dart, and as such there was naught else I could do. But finally it was over, and shaking, I made my careful way down from behind the boulder and into the small hanging valley with its green meadow, which despite what had just taken place was every bit as beautiful as Joscelin had promised.

As I crossed to his side, I could not fail to note the looks the other Cassilines gave me, varying from disgust to something near true hatred. Nor could Joscelin, and his lips tightened with the same anger that flashed clearly in his summer-blue eyes.

“I will say this once again, and see that you take it to heart,” he snapped, with a glare for each of them that was sharp as any of the daggers that lay gathered in the pile off to the side. “In Cassiel’s name, I protect and serve – and she to whom I am vowed for both is my lady Phèdre. It is done, and I will not turn aside from my vow; I will not leave her.”

I made some small sound, and on hearing it Joscelin turned to face me instead. “I will not leave you,” he repeated, softly. “I swore it, even unto damnation and beyond. So I chose that day, and so I would choose again, even as I have chosen every day since. So I choose now, and so I will continue to choose.” A flicker of amusement sparked in his glance. “Even though I expect we will still argue or even fight from time to time.”

Despite my suddenly tear-blurred vision, despite the silent, fuming disapproval of the watching Brethren, I laughed; I could not help it.

“Not like this one, I hope.”

Joscelin smiled. “No, not like this one. For one thing, you’re no good with a dagger.” As I bit my lip to keep back the fit of giggles that threatened, he turned to the others.

“I will see that your arms are sent to the Prefect, as tradition holds.” A beat. “Along with a full report.”

One of them grimaced, unable to stop himself, and Joscelin nodded at him. “Even so.” I made note of his face along with his reaction, as Joscelin continued, “Now leave this place swiftly, and Montrève with it. You are not welcome here.”

One after another, they bowed, and withdrew to the other side of the meadow, where six horses stood hobbled, save for the fifth, evidently the leader. He glanced at me, then looked at Joscelin.

“Should you ever repent,” he offered, tightly. “Should you think better, and seek to atone…”

“It is graciously offered,” Joscelin broke in, and although his words were perfectly smooth and polite, I who knew him so well could hear the irony in each one of them. “I will be sure to remember that you did so, if we should ever meet again.”

The Cassiline bowed one final time, and Joscelin answered it with a bow of his own, then watched in silence as the other man withdrew. Neither of us moved or spoke as they departed. Not until the last of them disappeared from sight across the valley and over the far ridge did Joscelin slant a look at me.

“Phèdre.” Resigned amusement and worry both were clear in his eyes. “What did you think you were doing?”

“Looking for you,” I retorted. “For _some_ reason, I was worried when you didn’t return last night. I thought something might have happened.”

“Something did,” he admitted, “but I suspect it’s not what you feared.” He caught my hand, then raised it to his lips and kissed it. “I’m sorry I angered you,” he murmured, his breath warm against my palm.

“I’m sorry too,” I breathed, and stepped nearer as I reached up to cradle his cheek with my fingers. “I didn’t mean what I said, Joscelin.”

He smiled, then leaned down to kiss me. I slipped my arms around him, drawing him closer, then jerked back as his breath hissed inward in pain. “You’re really hurt, aren’t you? More than just sparring--”

“Some,” he admitted, and at my urging suffered himself to be led to the nearest rock and seated there. I went for my bag while he undid his vambraces and removed his shirt. It was as well that I had a few moments to collect myself, truth be told, for one look was enough to show that Joscelin had no few cuts from the others’ blades, and a great many bruises as well. By the time I returned to his side, however, I’d managed to quell my concern—or at least to hide it, I thought.

“It’s just as well I brought the good salve,” I observed, as I began to explore the extent of his injuries. “I can certainly vouch for its effectiveness, and if you’re lucky enough, not too many of these will need stitches.” My fingers stilled against his side for a moment, and I looked up at him, searching his face. “What happened?”

He sighed.

“They call it the _siege_ ,” Joscelin told me, as I began to clean his wounds. “It’s a long-standing tradition within the Brotherhood. Those who claim offense of another Cassiline may challenge him to single combat by turns on the field, witnessed by others among the Brethren. In this case, they came upon me late yesterday, and after some, er, discussion--"

His face took on a sour expression at the thought. I could well imagine how animated the 'discussion' had been.

"--about terms, we agreed to begin the trial this dawn instead of risking the fight after dark."

I nodded, and reached for a fresh cloth, trying to disguise my reaction to the knowledge that the fight had been ongoing for hours before I arrived, five men against Joscelin alone. "I saw that some of them had only one dagger?"

"Yes. The challenge is to disarming, not to death. Whoever remains on his feet and possessed of both daggers at the end is declared the victor.”

“And whoever does is entitled to claim the weapons of the others?” I asked, with a glance at the pile of daggers. Joscelin nodded.

“Temporarily, at least,” he amended. “The idea is that the lost arms are to be submitted to the Prefect, who is then the only one who can establish the terms by which they may be regained.”

A cold chill ran through me.

“The only one.” I looked at him. “They were trying to force you to return, weren’t they.”

He looked away, into the distance toward where the others had gone.

“Yes,” Joscelin admitted.

He drew a long breath, then let it out with a sigh. “I don’t claim to understand it, not entirely,” he added. “It appears they each took my actions very personally, much more so than others did. It’s not as though I was particularly close to any of them, before, though, so I don’t … “

His words trailed off there, and I pursed my lips as I set aside the cloth I’d been using to wash the cuts and reached for the salve instead. As I spread balm on the first slash, something of his tension eased.

“You’re right,” he told me. “It works.”

“I should know,” I observed, dryly, and Joscelin winced at that.

“Yes, well.”

Silence fell between us for a few seconds, each of us preoccupied with our own thoughts.

“All of them took it personally,” I finally said. “Usually something that’s personal is also unique, which makes this strange. Is there something they share, perhaps, that they might have chosen as a reason—“ I broke off there as his eyes widened. “—what?”

“They’re orphans,” he said, slowly. “All of them. Wards of the Brotherhood, adopted into the Prefect’s household, nó Rinforte.”

It was my turn to draw a sharp breath.

“And so they took your refusal to obey the Prefect’s edict personally,” I murmured, comprehending. “A blood matter, of family honor, as it were.”

Joscelin shook his head in dismay.

“But why?” he asked. “The Brethen, all of us… them,” he amended, with a wry smile that caused my heart to crack, “are supposed to consider all of the Brotherhood family as such.”

I said nothing; in truth, what could I say, I whose own mother had sold me into the Night Court and who had subsequently loved Anafiel Delaunay all the more fiercely for finding value in me where others had not?

But as it happened I didn’t need to, for Joscelin continued,

“But you’re right about one thing.” He sighed, and looked out at the trampled ground. “All the wards, at least all those I’ve ever met, are far less likely to forgive error than anyone I’ve ever known.”

It would be a year and more after that day on the mountainside before I came to discover the truth about David nó Rinforte, born David de Rocaille, brother to Edmée, Rolande de la Courcel’s long-dead betrothed. Would that I had recalled enough to realize when first I heard his name, for had I guessed then how deep the currents within him ran, it might have been that the things which later came to pass in La Serenissima could have been avoided, and many lives spared, not least among them both Remy and Fortun… and I should not have had to face Melisande Shahrizai again.

But in retrospect it might not have mattered, not without also knowing who his family had been before he came to the Brotherhood. Or perhaps it would have happened just the same, for there has never been any question of Melisande’s subtlety. Only a fool would think that she had only one pawn in a game with such high stakes – and although I have been foolish all too often, I am perhaps the least likely of all to underestimate her.

Be that as it may, I knew none of this at the time, and neither did Joscelin. All I could do that day was to reach out to him, helpless to comfort and equally helpless not to try.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, brushing my fingers over his hair as he bowed his head. “I’m so sorry, Joscelin.”

He put one strong arm around my waist and pulled me close. “It’s not your fault,” he told me. “And in any case, I meant what I said: I will honor my vow. Unto damnation and beyond, Phèdre. You’re worth it.”

I kissed him then, and he kissed me back, and it’s of a certainty that the both of us would have soon forgotten any lesser concerns such as minor wounds and the cold mountain air had we not been interrupted by Remy’s shout from the trail.

“We rode all this way to find you, but I have to say that it sure doesn’t look to me like you need any help!” he called, and Joscelin and I broke apart laughing.

“I have all the help I need,” Joscelin called back, casting a warm glance toward me. “But I do thank you, all the same.” He bowed to Remy, who grinned and waved his hat in return before starting back down the path the same way he’d come.

Joscelin turned to me. “Shall we go home, Phèdre?”

My heart leapt for joy within me, and I beamed at him. “Yes,” I breathed, stretching up to kiss him once more, quickly. “Yes, Joscelin. Let’s go home.”


End file.
